A Catered Halloween (5 page)

“Well, this time something bad happened to Amethyst.”

“So my daughter told me. Which, of course, is why you’re here. You want to know if I can shed any light on the situation.”

“Exactly,” Bernie said.

Felicity laughed. It was more of a rattle, actually. “Of course, I can.”

Bernie waited. Felicity didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then she said, “Do you like games and puzzles?”

“As well as anyone else,” Bernie lied. In reality she didn’t like them at all.

“Are you good at them?”

“Moderately,” Bernie replied. “I’m good at crossword puzzles.”

Felicity made a dismissive noise. “I’m talking about a real puzzle.”

And she reached behind her and presented Bernie with a brown paper bag. It was crinkled and splotched with grease here and there. This brown paper bag, Bernie thought, had seen better days. It didn’t smell too great, either. It smelled as if it had been storing things that Bernie didn’t want to think about.

“Well, look inside,” Felicity snapped.

Bernie did, with a great deal of circumspection.

“Take everything in there out,” Felicity ordered.

Bernie reached in gingerly and pulled out an old View-Master and a wooden puzzle box that was covered with smudge marks.

“Thank you,” Bernie said, not knowing what else to do.

“Take them with you,” Felicity instructed. “And on your way out, see Odella at the reception desk, and tell her it’s time for my nap.”

“What are they?” Bernie asked, nodding toward the items that had been in the bag.

Felicity looked at her with an unmistakable expression of annoyance on her face. “They’re the solution to your problem, of course. I just told you what you wanted to know.”

“I’m sorry, but I must not have been paying attention.”

“The box and the View-Master,” Felicity told her. “The answer is in those. Especially the box. The View-Master not so much.”

“I don’t understand,” Bernie stammered.

“What’s to understand? I just told you. The answer to the question you want me to answer is in the bag. Solve the puzzle and you’ll find it.”

“What puzzle?” Bernie asked. She was at a total loss.

“The one in the bag,” Felicity snapped. “Honestly. These days people expect you to do all their work for them. When I was younger, we had to figure things out for ourselves. Now go. Go.”

S
ean looked at the items Bernie held out to him. She put them on the table in front of him.

“Interesting,” he said, picking up the View-Master. “I used to have one of these when I was a kid.” He held it up to the light. “Have you looked at the pictures?” he asked.

Bernie nodded. “When I got in the car. They’re all pictures of the Peabody School.”

When Sean was done, he put the View-Master down and picked up the wooden box. He studied it for a moment. “I haven’t seen a puzzle box like this in years.” He played with it for a moment, then put that down as well.

“So what do you think?” Bernie asked her dad when he went back to sipping his coffee.

“Felicity could be playing a joke,” he mused. “It would amuse her to think that I was spending my time over these things. That woman always was a pain in the ass, not to mention being a real nut job.”

“So why did you send me there?”

Sean gave a slight shrug. “I thought she might have mellowed. Evidently, I was wrong.”

“Do you think there’s anything in what she gave me that will help?”

“I’ll play around with the puzzle box for a while, but I don’t think there’s going to be anything in there.” He sighed. “Boy, that woman can hold a grudge.”

“What do you mean?”

“She never forgave me for marrying your mom.”

“But why?” Bernie couldn’t believe someone wouldn’t like her dad.

“Felicity was your mom’s babysitter at one time. She was quite attached to her—probably too attached—if you get my meaning. And she disapproved of me. She didn’t think I was good enough for your mom. I don’t know if anyone would have been. She thought your mom deserved better then being a policeman’s wife. And maybe she did. I thought she would have forgotten about that by now, but evidently, she hasn’t.” Sean frowned. “Oh well. On to Plan B.”

“And what is Plan B?”

Sean looked at his daughter. “Can’t you guess?”

“Find out who had a motive for killing Amethyst?”

Sean beamed. “Exactly.” He always felt good when he’d managed to teach something to his children.

It was going to be a long list, Bernie thought as she went into her room to change into her Halloween costume for the Haunted House. Today she was going to go as a witch. Of course, the bottom of witches’ dresses traditionally didn’t have ruffles lined in pink, but so be it. She wasn’t going to be wearing the kind of homespun cloth witches in thirteenth-century Europe would wear. It would be way too scratchy.

Libby was waiting for her sister downstairs. She and Amber had already packed everything and were in the middle of loading the van.

“Now be careful,” Amber warned when Bernie appeared. Libby closed the doors of the vehicle. “Here,” Amber said, pressing two small medallions into Libby’s and Bernie’s hands. “This is for just in case.”

Libby looked down at the silver hand with an eye drawn on the palm. “Just in case what?”

“It’s to ward off the evil eye,” Amber explained.

“There is no such thing as an evil eye,” Libby said. “That’s just a superstition.”

Amber gave her a reproachful look. “Don’t you know what happens in movies when the hero or heroine refuses to wear the protective amulet?”

“They get chopped up into hamburger,” Bernie replied.

“Exactly,” Amber said.

“Fine,” said Libby, as she put the amulet around her neck. “See. Feel better now?”

Amber nodded.

Libby shook her head as she drove down the street. She liked Amber, but there were some things about her she just couldn’t understand—like her fondness for horror movies. “What did dad say when you showed him the bag?” Libby asked as they turned onto Ash Place.

“He said Felicity was always a little crazy. He said that stuff could be her idea of a joke.”

“Lovely,” Libby said. “Are you planning on wearing that hat this evening?”

Bernie patted her hat. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s just very large.” Libby could see herself knocking it into the pumpkin pies by accident.

“Witches always wear large hats.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never made an actual study of it.”

Bernie glanced appraisingly at her sister. “You should get in costume, too, Libby.”

“I don’t like costumes,” Libby said. “You know that.”

“You don’t have to go as the Cowardly Lion.”

“I’m not going as anything,” Libby said firmly. “Besides, it’ll be hard to serve people.”

“Not if you’re wearing the right thing. Come on,” Bernie pleaded. “It’ll be fun.”

“No,” Libby said as she turned onto the road that led to the Haunted House. “I always feel ridiculous.”

“For Halloween night, you can go as…” Bernie paused for a moment while she thought. “I’ve got it. Fruit of the Loom tighty whities.”

“That’s it,” Libby yelped.

“I’m kidding.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You have to admit it would be funny.”

“Not to me.”

“We’ll get you a nice costume,” Bernie told her soothingly. “Something sexy.”

“I don’t want my boobs hanging out.”

“But they’re nice boobs.”

“Yes, they are,” Libby agreed. Marvin thought so, too. She just didn’t think it was appropriate to show them off when she was serving food.

“We’ll do funky.” Bernie snapped her fingers. “Wait. I know. You can come as Esmeralda’s ghost. That would be really freaky.”

“I’ll see.” Libby demurred. She reached over and
turned on the radio, signaling that she didn’t want to discuss dressing up anymore.

Ten minutes later they were at the school. Libby parked as close as possible to the entrance that led to the kitchen.

“Loading and unloading are the parts of this job that I hate the most,” Bernie grumbled.

“Tell me about it,” Libby agreed as she lifted a carton filled with cider out of the back of the van.

It took them about twenty minutes to unload the van and about half an hour to set up. They decked the long tables with the orange and black checkered tablecloths that Libby had found at the dollar store. Then Bernie arranged the decorations: five carved jack-o’-lanterns, pots of mums, and three small candles featuring Casper the Friendly Ghost. She stepped back and looked at the results.

Maybe she should forget about Casper. After all, there weren’t going to be any young children. But then some adults liked cartoony stuff. After another moment of debate, she left the candles on the table.

“You know,” Bernie said as she began laying out the paper cups, napkins, and spoons and forks, “we should have had bobbing for apples.”

“Too messy,” Libby said firmly as she began setting out the waffle irons. “There’d be water all over the floor, and then we’d have to worry about someone slipping.”

“But it would be fun,” Bernie protested.

“Undoubtedly,” Libby said as she began setting up the workstation for the waffles. “But that’s not the issue.”

She could just see it now: someone walking by and slipping on the floor because it was wet, grabbing the table for support, and having the whole thing come down. Then they’d get sued. No. Bobbing for apples
was out of the question. She checked her waffle supplies. They had the homemade strawberry and apricot jam, the hot fudge sauce, the apple compote, whipped cream, maple syrup, and strawberries, but no butter. She went through the box again. No. It wasn’t there. She explicitly remembered telling Amber not to forget to pack it.

“Damn,” Libby muttered. She should have checked everything over herself. This was what happened when she got lazy.

“What’s the matter?” Bernie asked.

“Amber forgot the butter.”

“No biggie. I’ll run back and get it,” Bernie told her. She looked at her watch. She had a half hour before they opened. Shouldn’t be a problem at all.

“And bring some of the glazed walnuts while you’re at it,” Libby said. They would go well with the maple syrup.

Bernie nodded, put on her jacket, and hurried out the door. Libby turned back to arranging the cookie bars on the platters she’d brought. She probably should have brought some of their larger serving plates, but these would have to do for the moment. She’d just put one platter down and was busy taking the pumpkin pecan bars out of their Tupperware container when she heard a door slam.

“Bernie?” she called out, even though it was way too early for her sister to have gotten to the shop and returned. Maybe she’d forgotten something.

No one answered.

Suddenly, Libby was aware of how quiet the room was. And how large. Another door slammed.

“Bernie?” Libby repeated.

Her sister’s name echoed in the silence.

“Hello?” Libby cried.

No one answered.

“This is ridiculous,” Libby said out loud.

Obviously, the sounds were being made by people walking back and forth in the hallway. She looked down. She didn’t remember doing it, but somehow she’d taken the amulet Amber had given her off of her neck and was clutching it in her hand. This was what came from listening to Amber and those ghost-hunter freaks. Libby shook herself. She hated when she got like this. She was acting the way she had when she was five.

Libby shook herself again, took a deep breath, and went over her to do list, holding it in her mind the way she was holding the amulet in her hand. She had to focus on finishing setting up. She had to finish plating the cookies, pouring the waffle batter into jugs, putting out the pies, slicing up the pumpkin loaves, arranging the drinks, and setting up the urns for hot coffee, tea, mulled cider, and hot chocolate.

She started humming Bob Dylan’s “It Ain’t Me Babe” to herself. That always helped. She didn’t know why, but it did. It had since childhood. She was finishing up overlapping the pumpkin chocolate chip cookies when she felt something funny around her.

It was like static electricity on her arms, neck, and shoulders. Then she felt a blast of cold air on her cheeks. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She didn’t know how she knew they were doing that; she just did.
It isn’t a figure of speech. They really do that
, she thought as she noticed the goose pimples on her arms. Suddenly, she was very, very cold. Colder than she’d ever been. The air around her seemed wavy, as if she was looking down the road on a hot summer’s day, with the heat beating down on her.

A young female voice whispered in her ear, “See you later, alligator.” Then she giggled.

Libby whirled around. For a second, she thought she saw the outline of a girl wearing a button-down oxford shirt and a long, pleated skirt, and then the image vanished. A moment later the prickly sensation on her skin and the coldness surrounding her were gone as well.

Libby told herself she was imagining things. Or that she was going crazy. But she knew she wasn’t. Her mother was right. She was weird.

Libby cleared her throat. “Are you Bessie Osgood?” she asked.

There was no answer.
Of course not,
Libby thought. What had she expected? Some sort of rapping? Two raps for yes, one rap for no?

Yeah, right.
There had to be another explanation, had to be, even though she knew in her heart there wasn’t. Maybe this was some kind of trick. If it was, she didn’t think it was one bit funny.

She went out in the hallway and took a look around. Bob Small, who was wearing his skeleton costume, waved at her as he walked past.
Guess they haven’t arrested him yet
, Libby thought. She wondered why. Her dad had been sure that Bob Small would be behind bars by now, and he usually wasn’t wrong about things like that.

“Did you see anyone out here?” she asked Bob.

“The Ghost of Christmas Past. Whoops. Wrong holiday.”

“Seriously.”

“Nope.” Bob shook his head and hurried along.

For a moment, Libby thought about going through the rooms of the Haunted House, but she quickly ruled that out. She didn’t have the time, and even if she did, what was she looking for?

She didn’t know. That was the problem.